


Gold

by Starofwinter



Category: Star Wars Legends: Republic Commando Series - Karen Traviss
Genre: Belly Dancing, Body Paint, Intimacy, M/M, Paint Kink, Rough Sex, Sev is pretty, in which they finally talk about feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-05
Updated: 2017-05-05
Packaged: 2018-10-28 05:58:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,551
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10825188
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Starofwinter/pseuds/Starofwinter
Summary: Sev is dripping in gold, and Atin thinks he's never looked more beautiful.





	Gold

**Author's Note:**

> Betaed by the lovely soleriane! Translations in end notes!

Atin’s mouth goes dry when Sev walks out of the bedroom; he tries not to stare, he really does, but he can’t tear his eyes off him.  Sev is  _ breathtaking _ , a word Atin wouldn’t have thought to apply to  _ anyone _ \- let alone  _ Sev _ \- only months before, but there’s no better way to describe him.

Sev is dripping in gold, and diamonds sparkle at his shoulders and hips.  Cobwebs of fine golden chains shift with every twitch of his broad shoulders; they accent his muscles and scars, making him look utterly fey rather than like the brutal soldier he is.  His dark hair tumbles over his shoulders, woven through with more fine strands of gold and some shimmering stones that look like stars when he tilts his head.  The only fabric he wears is a few scraps of something sheer that hide  _ nothing _ .  Swirling patterns of golden paint ripple as he breathes, and Atin has to dig his nails into his palms to remind himself to take a breath of his own. 

Mereel looks pleased with himself when he walks out after Sev.  “Not my best work, but our Sev looks good, doesn’t he?”  The ARC winks at Atin, who coughs to hide a flush at the suggestive look.  “I tried to get him to let me paint his eyes, but he refused.  Apparently, he doesn’t trust me that much.  I’m  _ hurt _ , Sev, I really am.”

“If I have to-  Atin can do it.”  The only thing that’s still  _ Sev _ is the scowl he’s wearing - he can’t even cross his arms without smudging the still-drying paint.  

_ What _ ?  Atin has never put on any kind of cosmetics in his  _ life _ , and now  _ Sev  _ wants him to do it for him?   “If you want me to,” his traitorous mouth says before he can stop it, and Mereel looks somewhere between amused and a little offended.  

Atin takes the offered pot of- well, he assumes it’s paint, but he doesn’t know makeup like Mereel does; it looks like liquid gold, but it catches the light in ways metal usually doesn’t.  Sev goes to sit down, and Atin pauses for a second, considering.  “I need to sit in your lap to reach.”  He pointedly ignores Mereel’s snort and slips into Sev’s lap, careful of the jewelry.  

This close, Atin can smell the spice of whatever perfume Mereel used on Sev, overlaying the ozone and metal that usually clings to his lover’s skin.  It’s intoxicating, and the only thing that steadies him is the feeling of warm hands resting at his hips. They’re only a hand’s-breadth apart, and for a second, they’re the only beings in the galaxy.  Sev closes his eyes and his expression softens: it feels like trust, and it’s even headier than the scent of his skin.  Atinrests one hand on Sev’s jaw, tilting his head up so he can carefully line his eyes with gold, a little amazed that his hand doesn’t shake as he does.

Atin sits back after he’s done, watching as Sev’s eyes flutter open.  The amber of his irises seem to reflect the color of the paint, and they look nearly feral.  Atin is seized with a violent desire to  _ lay claim _ to his lover, and before he can stop himself, he pours a bit of paint into his palm and wraps his hand around Sev’s throat - feeling the way his pulse skips a beat and the way his hands tighten on his hips - before dragging it down to his chest, leaving a smear of gold in his wake.  He leaves it there as he leans forward, catching Sev’s lips.  It’s intimate and  _ hungry _ , and he doesn’t pull away till Mereel clears his throat.  

“Well, if you’re done, we have a cab to catch.”  Mereel taps his chron, and Atin clambers to his feet, watching as Sev stalks out after the ARC.  He’s wearing enough jewelry to jingle as he walks, but after a couple of steps, he apparently figures out how to walk without making a sound.  It makes his hips swing alluringly, and Atin clenches his jaw and forces himself to look away.  He needs to get himself under control.  

* * *

 

Sev steps out of the speeder and into a world galaxies apart from his own.  He’s in the back of the building, a service entrance and a dressing room.  The whole room is covered in bright, glittering fabric, and it’s overwhelming compared to the dullness of dirt, mud, and stone he’s used to on missions, or the stark, sterile white hallways of Tipoca City.  There are a dozen beings of various races and builds, and each of them looks deadly in their own way.  The two Twi’leks, clearly twins, have blasters in their skirts - small enough to stay hidden, but easily accessible.  The Zeltron, who looks barely older than Sev himself, has a vibroshiv in the back of his belt.  Why  _ Sev _ didn’t get a weapon was beyond him, but he had his assignment, and that was that.  

“Oh good, you’re already dressed, come with me.”  A woman bustles in, giving Sev a lingering glance, and he feels more like just a piece of meat than he ever did in his armor.  “You were almost late.  It isn’t a strike against you this time, but don’t let it happen again.”  He ducks his head and winces a little at her tone.  It’s not the cold disappointment of Vau, but the words are close enough to strike a chord.  She leads him out into the middle of a room almost as big as the mess hall on Kamino, and he has to stop and stare for a long moment, trying to acclimate himself to the terrain he’s been dropped in with no warning.  The air is smoky and sweet, heady with incense and a hypnotizing beat from the band half-hidden behind curtains.   He knows how to dance; a few hours with one of Mereel’s  _ contacts  _ \- and he wasn't blind to what  _ kind _ of contact they were, considering how thick Mereel laid on the charm - had made sure of that.   

Sev slips easily into one of the dances, and he can let his attention wander after that, his body following the movements he's memorized.   He nearly jumps out of his skin at the first brush of fingers over his bare skin - it's almost intimate, but he's not among brothers right now.  Things are different with natural-borns, maybe it’s not as intimate a gesture with them.  Maybe it is, and they don’t see him as a living being, just a pretty set piece for the holodrama he feels like he’s a part of.  Either way, he doesn’t have a choice, so he keeps dancing, trying to ignore the touches and listen to the conversations around him.   

Sev picks up words, scattered but enough to tie into what they were looking for.   Murmured conversation about laundered credits, hidden caches, and sympathizers across the galaxy float on the music as he listens, and none of the speakers pause as he steps closer to hear the details; he really is just part of the scenery, an object for their viewing pleasure.  He doesn’t know if he hates it or if he actually enjoys the lack of attention.  He files every bit of information away to report back, and he keeps dancing.  

Part of him wonders if Atin is watching, but he brutally shoves that thought down.  Atin doesn’t need to see him like this.  Would he like him more in this than his armor?  He remembers the way Atin had kissed him before he left; he’d never kissed him like that in front of anyone else.  Sev doesn’t know how he feels about that, so he forces that thought away too.  It isn’t part of the mission - he shouldn’t be thinking about Atin anyway.  He swallows hard, closes his eyes, and keeps listening, trying not to imagine the weight of his lover’s gaze.

* * *

 

Fi gives the rest of them them a running commentary, not that they need it.  He’s their  _ eyes in the sky _ , as Kal says, and they can all patch into his HUD if necessary.  Atin manages it for all of ten minutes until he saw Sev rolling his hips and had a flash to the week before, when Sev had rolled his hips like that - only he’d been riding Atin’s cock and moaning.  

Atin curses, drops his bucket on the low-slung couch, and starts pacing.  His own possessiveness is surprising him - Sev isn’t  _ his _ , nine Corellian hells, they don’t belong to  _ themselves _ , let alone each other, he’s being  _ ridiculous _ \- but he can’t help the restless energy under his skin; it’s the same kind of energy that drove him to leave that glittering gold handprint on Sev’s throat, and he hates it a little.

Niner is watching him with an unimpressed look.  Atin manages to bite back the  _ usen’ye _ on the tip of his tongue; it isn’t Niner’s fault he’s gotten all fucked up over Sev being watched and pawed at by these rich  _ shabuire _ who think they can own beings just because they have credits.  “Atin, sit down before you wear a hole in the floor.”

“I’m fine,” he mutters, and ignores the way it sounds closer to a growl.  What is going on with him?  

Niner just grunts at him, rolling his eyes as he goes back to whatever holomag he was reading.  Atin paces some more, his arms crossed over his chest.  He brushes his fingertips to his lips, and they come away sparkling with gold.  He looks over at where Darman, Niner, Boss, Fixer, and Scorch are studiously looking somewhere other than him.  “It’s a good look,” Scorch pipes up, before Fixer grabs the back of his neck, presumably to shut him up, “Might not wanna let  the sergeants see it.”

“Vau and Kal’buir are gone till 1400 tomorrow,” Darman says helpfully, as Atin tries to scrub the gold off his lips, “Plenty of time for… whatever you want to do.”  His tone is thoughtful, but the quirk of his brow says volumes.  Atin makes a rude gesture in his direction, and sits back, crossing his arms tighter over his chest.  He manages a minute or two of stillness before he’s on his feet again, pacing like a caged nexu.  Kriff, he wants Sev,  _ now _ .  

Three more hours of pacing and trying to ignore his brothers pass before Sev finally walks in the door, flanked by Mereel, and the rest of the galaxy disappears in a haze of  _ hunger _ .  Sev had looked good when he left, but  _ now, _ covered in a sheen of sweat, muscles still highlighted by shimmering gold, he looks like a god.

Atin waits until Sev debriefs with Boss and Niner before he wraps a hand around his upper arm, dragging him back to one of the bedrooms.  Sev struggles for half a second, cursing under his breath, before he seems to catch on, letting himself be pulled along.  He smirks when Atin shoves him back against the wall, his breath knocked out of him for a moment before Atin catches his lips in a demanding kiss.  “Did they touch you?” Atin snarls, his own possessiveness and vehemence startling him for a moment, “Did one of those  _ chakaare  _ lay a hand on you?”  His fingers tangle in Sev’s hair as his lover wraps hands around his waist.

“Does it matter?” Sev asks, and the mocking tilt of his lips makes Atin want to bite them.  He reins back that idea and kisses him again instead, savage and harsh.

“It matters to  _ me _ .”  He wants to touch him  _ everywhere _ , claim him all over again.  He growls low in his throat, and smirks as Sev’s pupils blow wide at the sound.  “You’re mine,  _ mesh’la _ .”  

Sev’s smirk only grows, vicious and sharp -  _ inviting _ .  “Prove it.”  

Atin surges forward again, kissing and biting at his throat, at the very edges of the handprint he’d left hours before.  He leaves deep pink marks over Sev’s golden skin, smearing the painted patterns, making sure each mark will bruise - no one who looks at  _ his _ lover will doubt that he is already claimed.  Sev whines a little louder with every bite, his ringed fingers coming up to knot themselves in Atin’s hair, pulling him closer.  He feels drunk on the sound and on the scent of Sev’s skin, metallic and spiced, overwhelming in a way Atin loves.  He drops to his knees and bites at the hollow of Sev’s hip and he  _ gasps _ , hips jerking under the sharp sting.  Atin pins him with one hand, the other ripping off the scraps of fabric that can’t hide the swell of his cock as he hardens at Atin’s treatment.  He doesn’t waste another second, licking a stripe along the length of him, smirking when he hears him moan, low and breathless already.  There’s something intoxicating about knowing that  _ he _ is the only one who ever gets to see Sev like this.  “ _ Gar’ner _ ,” Atin purrs, before finally wrapping his lips around his cock.  

Sev’s hands in his hair yank him forward as he bucks, and if Atin didn’t have so much practice, he’d choke on the thick cock that fills his mouth.  As it is, he barely has time to relax enough to take him, and he moans a little as Sev fucks his throat, giving him just enough time between thrusts to catch his breath.  Finally, he pulls back and bites Sev’s thigh, over the scars there.  “This isn’t about you, tonight.”  Oh, but it is.  That’s what all of this is about.  Making sure Sev knows that he  _ belongs _ .  That Atin  _ wants _ him.  It’s not love; it’s  _ not _ .  The thought gives him a renewed snarl and he surges to his feet, kissing Sev again, hard enough to make him bleed, and the red mixes with the gold on his lips like rubies: precious and beautiful.  It isn’t often that Atin can catch him off-guard but he has, and he shoves Sev back onto the bed, pinning him down.  Sev rolls his hips up to grind against Atin’s hip, and he growls again.  “Don’t move,” he orders, before stepping back to strip as quickly as he can - he might rip his shirt a little, but he doesn’t care as he pins Sev in place once more.

Sev snarls at the sharp order, but it turns into a low groan when Atin strokes his cock, leaning down to kiss him.  Atin half-expects him to try to flip them and take control of the situation again, but Sev stays still, the look in his eyes the same hunger and fury as always, but tempered with something that might be  _ need _ .  Atin can’t make him wait any longer -  _ he _ can’t wait any longer, and he reaches back for the lube in the drawer next to the bed.  It’s gone, but there’s a small container in its place -  _ kriffing Mereel,  _ Atin is going to  _ kill him _ , no matter what Kal’buir says.  

The damned gold paint will have to do, then.  Atin feels his heart skip a beat at the picture that conjures, and he swallows hard, pulling out the jar.  He dips his fingers in, watching as the paint drips down his hand to his wrist, coating his skin.  The hitch of Sev’s breath is audible, and he spreads his thighs just a little more, glittering amber eyes going dark as they focus on the paint dripping down Atin’s wrist.  “What are you waiting for?” he demands, and Atin kisses him to shut him up.  It doesn’t work, and Sev groans as he starts to open him up.  Atin doesn’t have his lover’s talented hands, but he knows exactly how to drive him  _ crazy _ , and so he does.  He takes his sweet time getting Sev ready, savoring every moan and threat and plea for him to  _ just hurry the fuck up, what the fuck is wrong with you _ \- that spills from his beautiful mouth.  He kisses the words off Sev’s lips,  _ almost  _ soft enough to be an apology as he pulls away, going to stroke himself- but Sev is already there, hand soaked in gold as he wraps it around Atin’s cock.  He pulls Atin into another fast, bloody kiss, panting soft curses against his mouth.  

This is for  _ him _ , he’s the only one who gets to see Sev this undone, this  _ open _ as he begs for Atin’s cock in between curses.  It’s not vulnerability, not in any way he’s ever known it, but it’s intoxicating, and his head spins with it.  Sev is  _ his _ .  

Atin doesn’t bother being gentle as he thrusts in, the thought of  _ mine, he is mine _ ringing in his mind.   Sev growls and tangles fingers in his hair, pulling him down into another kiss that muffles a moan.   “ _ Mesh’la _ ,” Atin growls against the gold on his throat, running his fingers through his hair, the metal threads tangling with the dark strands, “You’re so beautiful.  I never want to share you with anyone else, you understand that?  Not the fucking rich  _ chakaare _ that had their hands all over you, not Vau, not the Republic.  Just want you to be all mine.”  It’s ridiculous and he half expects Sev to shove him off and tell him to go fuck himself, but he can’t help it.  

Sev shivers under him, and the look in his eyes is deadly.  “ _ Prove it _ ,” he demands, and tightens his thighs around Atin’s waist, rolling his hips in the obscene way Atin had remembered earlier.  He snaps his hips, thrusting in  _ hard _ , and Sev gasps.  His gold-painted nails rake down Atin’s shoulders, dragging him down into yet another harsh kiss.  

There are none of their usual venomed taunts, full of spite and barbs, despite the current violence.  Atin calls Sev  _ beautiful _ , tells him he wants him, that Sev is  _ his _ , growling praises and curses in his ear while he fucks him through one orgasm and into another before he follows his lover over the edge, moaning his name.  They collapse together, eyes closed as they catch their breaths.  

“I should-”  Sev moves to stand, but Atin catches his hand, curling his fingers around it, their callouses rough against one another.  

“Stay, Sev.”  Atin knows his expression reflects his feelings, stormy and painfully open, the  _ love _ he feels for Sev revealed in the only way he knows how.  He swallows hard, pausing before he whispers, “Please.”

Sev falls back into the bed, softer than either of them have ever slept on, and curls around him.  Atin feels secure, steadied in a way he hasn’t for a long time, maybe  _ ever _ .  He feels like he can breathe, and he nuzzles at Sev’s throat when his lover wraps his arms around him, both of them breathing in the same air.  “Did you mean that?” Sev asks, his tone guarded, “What you said about… being yours?”

“Always,” Atin whispers back, and Sev goes limp under him, relaxing.  He wants to say the rest, that he loves Sev with every bit of the soul he isn’t sure he has, but the words stick in his throat.  “And I’m yours, just the same.”  

Sev shakes his head.  “Don’t promise that,” he whispers into the darkness, “You don’t know the kind of man I am.”

“I do, and I’m doing it anyway.”  Atin waits for Sev to argue, but he just pulls him closer and nuzzles into his hair.  Maybe that’s enough.  As he drifts off, he thinks he feels Sev trembling, but the exhaustion is too much to fight and he falls asleep before he can say anything else.

The next morning dawns in soft golden light, and Atin opens his eyes to see Sev, relaxed in sleep, his hair a dark halo around his head, still shot through with the glittering strands from the night before.  He looks  _ beautiful _ , and it steals his breath away for a moment.  He doesn’t dare reach out to brush the hair from Sev’s face, though his fingers ache for it.  

Atin contents himself with propping his head up to watch over Sev as he sleeps.  He’s never seen him like this, relaxed and content.  It seems like something he  _ shouldn’t _ see; it’s so intimate.  Is this what normal beings feel, waking up next to a lover?  How do they stand it?  He feels like his heart is going to burst, like it’s too much for his chest to hold.  

How did he get this lucky?  He can barely remember their first times together, the anger he felt toward Sev - the  _ good _ son, the one so close to Vau; he’d called him a  _ sheb'urcyin _ , compared him to Vau himself.  The thought makes him cringe now.  Sev survived what Vau put him through, he’d put his head down and  _ endured _ it.  He was stronger than Atin had ever been, and Atin admired him for it, despite his fury that the man he loved had been forced to that point in the first place.  

Sev slowly opens his eyes, stretching a little before he curls closer to Atin, nuzzling into his shoulder, still mostly asleep.  “You think too fucking loud, you know that?”

Atin has to laugh, pressing a kiss to Sev’s forehead.  He feels drenched in golden warmth and  _ happy _ for the first time in forever.  “Sure, Sev.  Whatever you say.”  

**Author's Note:**

> usen’ye - Go away! (Very rude - from same root as osik)  
> shabuire - extreme insult - jerk, but much stronger  
> chakaare - corpse robber, thief, petty criminal - general term of abuse  
> mesh’la - beautiful  
> gar’ner - you're mine  
> sheb'urcyin - kiss-ass


End file.
